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janie_tangerineTitle: Roadhouse Blues
Rating/Warnings: Hard R
Pairing: Dean/Boone (Supernatural/Lost crossover)
Word counting: *cough* 3900 *cough* I got carried away.
Disclaimer: Lost surely isn't mine, Supernatural isn't either. If Boone was mine I'd have probably taken better care than Darlton, while I can't say the same for Dean even if Kripke -> sadist.
Spoilers: Both pre-S1 for each show so... nothing apart from the pilots for both?
Summary:Dean Winchester doesn't do vacations and doesn't pick hitchhikers up. Usually.
A/N: my offer for the almighty Queen![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
gottalovev at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
lostsquee, who asked for vacation. Now, she also said that she would have liked some song for a road trip in case. Thing is, my default road trip song is Roadhouse Blues by The Doors and fortunately/unfortunately for her I had in program to write a Dean/Boone for it since months. So I just went with it, it came and here it is. I don't think it should be too averse to your taste ;) I really hope you like it! Using also for un_love_you #23, you remind me of me.
Vacation.
Now if there was one thing Dean Winchester never did, that was vacation. And if there was something John Winchester never, ever did, it was vacation.
Well, right, Dean didn’t do vacations because John didn’t do vacations. Square and straight. And in truth, thing was, John wasn’t doing a vacation. He had sent Dean on one.
Or better, he had practically ordered him to take a week off. Dean had shrugged and figured that objecting was only going to hurt. Hey, since Sam went off to Stanford, his dad had had some of those moments in which he looked at Dean for a few seconds, shaking his head. He had asked him a couple of times if he never wished to have a couple of days to himself.
Anyway, Dean had just taken the Impala, turned up the radio, put on some good Robert Johnson tape and went in the first direction on the highway. It was only a week anyway and he could do some hunt job alone without his dad knowing, if he got too bored. Right? Also, vacation.
Fuck, the hell was he supposed to do? Have a trek on the mountains? Going to the fucking sea? Sometimes his dad’s ideas were really weird, no shit.
Well, he figured, if he couldn’t even find some hunting job to do, road trip was the key word.
--
Of course, the first direction he took was exactly the one going straight to Stanford, since he had started from some small town in California to begin with.
Fuck. That. All the roads bring to Stanford, indeed.
Also, fuck him, since he should have taken the car, turned direction and running into the opposite one. But alas, Dean knew himself better than that.
After ten minutes of standing on the corner of a building, dark glasses over his eyes, looking at Sam and a nice, blonde girl having lunch together at a table of an overly romantic small restaurant for students, smiling to each other, Dean decided that it just was enough. Vacations. If that was the start, he might as well have gone back to the hotel.
He left his corner, resisting the urge to punch the first wall he saw; it wasn’t that he wasn’t happy for Sam, because he really was, but there was something upsetting him that he couldn’t place and he just couldn’t stay there. He didn’t even want to know why he was upset. He just fucking was.
He arrived at the car, opened the door, turned his Highway to Hell cassette at the highest possible volume as soon as he was out of listening reach from the restaurant and took the first highway exit. Fuck. What a vacation.
And road trips weren’t meant to be done alone, anyway. Right, you can go on a road trip alone, but what’s the point if you always spend your life on a car anyway? Great fun.
Though the road trip alone looked like what was going to happen. Fuck. That was going to be the worst week of his life, he decided after calling his dad and realizing that going back wasn’t an option before seven days.
--
Also, there was a rule that Dean always stuck to. Rule said wisely, never pick hitchhikers up.
Firstly because you never knew what they could be. He had encountered at least a couple of ghost hitchhikers, a demon one, a zombie one and another that he couldn’t remember specifically but anyway, dangerous stuff.
Secondly because even if they were human, he didn’t want anyone not knowing his job to ride with him. Too dangerous. His job was saving people anyway, not getting them killed.
So, he didn’t really know why he stopped when he saw the guy hitchhiking just outside of Palo Alto. He did it just out of instinct and really, just to hear where he was going. If he didn’t like him, he could always refuse to pick him up. Right?
He lowered the car window and waited for him to approach; he walked behind the car and as soon as the hitchhiker was facing him, Dean had to bite his tongue in order to stop the remark that was coming out. Because thing was, while Dean Winchester definitely knew how to appreciate a nice girl, he had had his flings on the other side of the fence once in a while and this one? Well, this one was something.
Tall enough or so it seemed, long-ish soft brown hair, the biggest blue eyes Dean had ever seen his whole life, a over-sized shirt with a NO GUNS written in capitals (Dean would have really had something to object to that statement but the guy was obviously a liberal and another rule of Dean’s consisted in not talking politics if he could help it, it wasn’t a topic concerning his immediate troubles anyway), ripped jeans, a quite heavy backpack on his shoulders; he had some lips indeed, soft, of a really nice shade of pink, the same of his cheeks (Dean has an idea that the guy has a perpetual flush there) and well, the half smile he did surely was something. And at least he didn’t look like a demon or anything.
“You’re the first that has stopped in three hours. I was sort of losing hope.”
Nice voice, too. Low, warm, sort of friendly.
Damn it.
“Really. Guess it’s your lucky day. What are you doin’ hitchhiking anyway?”
“You know. Was on a sort of road trip.”
“Sort of?”
“Well, I was only going by bus. But there’s a strike in Palo Alto and the next station from when they leave is Salinas. I just need a ride there.”
“Fair enough. But you were going on a road trip alone?”
“Couldn’t find anyone that wanted to go by bus.”
“No car?”
“I already drive enough at home.”
Dean chuckled.
“You know, I’m more or less in your condition. Except that I drive. And I’m supposed to be on a road trip, except that I’m dying of boredom.”
“Why, no one forces you.”
“Long story.”
The guy nodded and didn’t ask further questions. Dean was definitely starting to like this attitude.
“Where did you want to go specifically?”
“I don’t have an idea. I was going with the instinct.”
“Peachy. Neither have I.”
“Why, you want to share the road trip misery with someone?”
“I just might. If you don’t object.”
“Sure don’t. You don’t seem much dangerous, anyway.”
“I’m touched. But you just need to pass the test before.”
“The test?”
“Can you mind your own business?”
“Did I ever ask you questions you didn’t want to answer?”
Fair enough.
“Do you like dance music?”
“Are you crazy? I hate that.”
Now, that was reasoning.
“Awesome. Do you like Metallica?”
“Well, maybe they’re a bit too hard to the ear but I can work with that.”
“Led Zeppelin?”
“I love Led Zeppelin.”
“Right, get in. You’ve got the passenger seat for the next week.”
He smiled, nodded and got on the other side of the car, throwing his pack in the back seat. Then he turned to Dean, his hand extended.
“I’m Boone, by the way. Figured at least we should know each others’ names, right?”
Right. Dean thought about it a second, then shrugged. Whatever.
“I’m Dean,” he answered shaking the hand and well, the guy did have some soft skin. Now, what the hell of a thought was it?
--
He let Boone choose the tape just to see if the test results weren’t a fake. He put on Led Zeppelin III and Dean was not at all disappointed. Not what he would have gone for a first choice but not bad at all. Surely better than the stuff Sam inflicted on him a couple of times.
Fuck.
Wasn’t the target of the trip not to think about Sam? He sped up a bit.
“So, you’ve got preferences for accommodations?”
“Me? Not really. I’ve slept in motels up to now.”
Dean was relieved. The last thing he needed was someone complaining because of motels.
“Hey, just to make things clear...”
“Yes?”, he answered, not taking his eyes off the road.
“I’d like to... I don’t know, maybe split the money for the gas with you? I mean...”
“Well, we could do a nice thing. I pay for the gas and the food, you pay for the motel. What about it?”
“Fine.”
Dean glanced at him with the corner of an eye while Robert Plant screamed about losing his worried mind since loving someone. Dean ignored it and waited for Out on the Tiles to begin. Now that one was a fun song.
At one point during the last half of the record though, when they had talked more or less about nothing, he felt compelled to ask at least a couple of questions.
“Is there any reason for the road trip?”
“Just wanted to take my mind off a couple of things. Family related.”
Dean has to smile again at that.
“Is there anything funny?”
“Nope,” he answered earnestly, still speeding up a bit. “It’s just that it’s exactly the same reason for which I am on a road trip.”
--
It was already evening when Dean turned for one highway stop, four Led Zeppelin records later and much discussing whether Robert Plant sang better in the first record or in the fourth.
The place wasn’t really that bad; Dean had some chicken which wasn’t anything special but not disgusting either, a double coffee and a double portion of apple pie because well, that was good at least; Boone had only the apple pie and a salad, which made Dean wonder whether they guy was also vegetarian or whether he just wasn’t impressed by the cooking. He couldn’t blame him in that case.
“How is that?”
“The salad? Fine. If you’re wondering, I’m not vegetarian. That chicken doesn’t look that good though.”
“Well, not losing a thing here. God, even my brother cooks that thing better.”
Fuck.
“Family reason for which you’re on a road trip?”
“More or less,” he answered shrugging. No sense in denying the truth, right?
“You’re the first? Or he is?”
“I am. Why?”
Boone’s fork stopped mid-air and his expression went in three seconds from incredulous to amused. And Dean should have felt at least a bit angry because there wasn’t anything amusing, especially when they hadn’t known each other for a day, but to his surprise he didn’t. Especially after Boone explained himself.
“Nothing. It’s just... I am on the road trip sort of because of my... my sister.”
“Don’t you tell me. Your junior?”
“Yeah. Two years. Step-sister though. Not that it mattered.”
“Well, now that’s fun. What has she done?”
“She married, divorced two months later and left for France. Au pair.”, he said, putting an extra stress on the au pair. “Before leaving I had to send her money. She finished it and it’s two weeks before they pay her. What did yours do?”
“Oh, just left home. You know, graduating.”
Boone nodded, taking a bite from the pie, and Dean was thankful for no other questions being asked. That would have been a problem to answer, but for once he had luck and ended up with someone that knew how to mind his business. To be honest, Dean didn’t even understand how the hell did he end up with a random Californian guy eating apple pie in an highway stop somewhere in the Monterey county, but hey, it could end being more fun than he had thought, after all. For a decent road trip, after all, you need at least two people, a car and some good music; he had them. Now the question was seeing whether it was going to work.
--
For two days, it worked just brilliantly. Dean found out that his new acquaintance wasn’t that low on money, which didn’t exactly assure four stars hotels, but motels which were a tad more decent than he was accustomed to. They always ended up in completely anonymous towns, but tourism in towns wasn’t the point of the whole thing anyway. Boone was of some really good company; he never pushed on Sam’s topic (and that was a blessing indeed), had more patience with the maps than Dean ever had, didn’t complain if the food was shit, was generally easy to talk to and well, maybe if he wasn’t that hot Dean would have liked it better because sometimes it got, well, distracting, but hey. They were in that for a week, not for life.
On the third day, it didn’t stop working brilliantly. It just changed.
--
“You know, you don’t have the only song you should have in this amount of stuff.”
Dean turned a second from the wheel, faking a hurt expression.
“Really? Now you’re hurting me. What would be?”
“You really go on a road trip without having Roadhouse Blues anywhere?”
Well, he was right. Dean would have probably done an excellent example of facepalm, if it didn’t mean crashing the Impala somewhere.
Not a chance.
“Fuck. Uhm, right. Can’t say you don’t have a point.”
“Oh well, we can do without. That’s a pity, though.”
Dean had to agree with that. He wouldn’t have minded some Roadhouse Blues right now.
That evening they stopped at a small diner which seemed brought out of the seventies. Christ, there was even a jukebox. Boone stood up at one point in the end of the dinner; he had almost finished a piece of some chocolate thing (Dean stuck to the apple pie, thanks). He went to the jukebox and then had a look at the records in the jukebox; Dean managed to see the hint of a smirk in the corner of his mouth while he took a dime out of the pocket of his jeans.
As soon as he sat back in his place, the song started. Dean recognized it on the spot, even before the singing started. How could someone confuse it anyway?
Keep your eyes on the road, your hands upon the wheel, keep your eyes on the road, your hands upon the wheel, yeah, we're goin' to the roadhouse, gonna have a real, a good time...
“Now there’s everything,” Boone said, eating the last bit of the chocolate cake, or whatever it was.
“You bet,” Dean answered, taking a bite of his pie, trying not to stare at a pair of blue eyes which was set exactly on him. He could feel the stare burning and it was making him way uncomfortable.
Boone pushed away the plate then, standing up and placing the chair back in place.
“I think I’ll be going to the bathroom five minutes.”
Dean nodded, his mouth full; as soon as Boone disappeared into the restroom, hips just lightly swinging, while closing the door, Dean realized that his head might think in one direction, but his body was having other projects.
Indeed.
Yeah, back at the roadhouse they got some bungalows, yeah, back at the roadhouse they got some bungalows, and that's for the people who like to go down slow.
Oh, fuck. Now that wasn’t the song. That just wasn’t...
Let it roll, baby, roll, let it roll, baby, roll, let it roll, baby, roll, let it roll, all night long...
You know what? Fuck this., he thought standing up abruptly. He took his jacket, thankful for having paid the bill before sitting; then he quite ran into the bathroom. All the restroom doors were open, except for one which was just halfway.
He went straight in there, only to find himself pressed against the wall, blue eyes staring right up into his.
“Took you some time.”
“Do I have to make up for it?”
Boone didn’t even answer and as soon as his lips insistently touched his, Dean’s knees went weak for a second. Next thing he knew his hands were in Boone’s hair, he opened his lips up giving Boone free access, shivering without really much control when Boone’s hands went on his jeans and he got them opened.
Boone looked at him for a second, raising an eyebrow; Dean just nodded, finding that a lump in his throat was making him unable to speak. He didn’t even look down, he didn’t need it to realize how hard he was and fuck it’d been some time since...
He didn’t finish the thought because then Boone took him in hand and his lips crushed against Dean’s again; Dean couldn’t help but moan into Boone’s mouth while that hand stroked him fast but not too much. He sighed in pleasure as soon as the kiss ended, not caring about Boone biting his lower lip. For a second he thought about doing it, too, but then Boone’s lips were on his neck, Dean’s hands grasping his back not knowing what else to do, spasms of pleasure running through his spine each time Boone moved a finger. He came with Boone’s lips on his, thankful because they would have heard them otherwise, a sort of white light exploding before his eyes, the air so unbelievably hot.
When he regained control of himself enough to pull his jeans up, the door was closed; Boone was on the outside, seemingly intent on drying his hands. He flashed Dean a smile, his lips red and swollen, the flush even more evident, his hair messy; Dean had a serious instinct that told him to throw Boone against the wall and go all the way there, but it wasn’t a reasonable idea.
“Wow.”
“All you have to say?”
“I’m sorta speechless.”
“I’ll take it as a compliment, then. So, what do you want to do now?”
“What do you mean?” he asked, still too dazed to connect.
“Well, you want this to be a one time deal or we get through the week? Fine either way, by me, though I’d favor option number two.”
Dean just took his wrist and looked down at him, trying what Sam called the hooking up smirk. Hey, he wasn’t even angry thinking about Sam. Now that was a nice thing.
“I’d say we go back to the motel. What do you say?”
“I say get the hell on that car and drive.”
--
So, they spent the rest of the road trip having more or less fun in the day (and in the highway stops’ restrooms) and half of the night fucking and that was perfectly fine in Dean’s book.
Hell, he had been lucky enough to find someone to ease his misery during the road trip (which had actually been more fun than he’d have thought at the beginning), who actually had probably worst sibling issues than Dean had or so and that wasn’t that bad to talk to in the end. Finding out that said someone had a huge amount of merits in bedroom had been a very welcomed plus, indeed. And while he wouldn’t have said it out loud for his life, he had to admit that Boone had a pretty good experience in the field, probably more than Dean had himself. Hell, he had had two flings once in a while that ended in a quickie in some restroom (what news!), but he wasn’t near as acquainted with the whole business as Boone was. He should have realized that the guy had learned it living in fucking Greenwich Village of all places, but Dean had found out very soon that it was some very useful learning. Once he got the drill of it, it wasn’t that hard to put into practice Dean’s own theory.
Those were some glorious five days, indeed.
--
He dropped Boone at the bus station in Santa Barbara, on the seventh day. After Boone closed the door, Dean got out of the Impala, too, leaning against the hood; it was a bit chilly and he couldn’t help noticing for a second the way Boone’s hair got messed up by a sudden breeze that left as soon as it had come.
“Guess this is goodbye.”
“Guess it is. God, she’s probably filled up my answering machine with messages.”
Dean shook his head, smiling slightly.
“Will probably be all the contrary for me. You wanna split maybe?”
“I don’t think you’d want half of my sister’s calls, if you knew her.”
“If she’s pretty, why not?”
Boone smirked again, shaking his head himself; then he took out his wallet handing Dean a picture.
Dean took it and had a close look. It was of a young woman and hell, wasn’t she gorgeous. Blonde hair, long legs, perfect tan, lovely features even if they had a sort of hard edge.
“I’d definitely want half of her calls, man. Though she isn’t as pretty as you are, that’s for sure.”
Boone took the picture back, putting it back in his wallet, then came closer.
“How nice of you.”
“I’m known for my sincerity.”
“I’d have a doubt, but I’ll take it for good. Well, thanks for everything. It’s been a nice week.”
“Yeah. Same here, I must say.”
“Oh, I was forgetting something.”
Boone opened a compartment in his backpack, taking out a cassette without labels.
“I remembered I had it this morning. Keep that.”
“What’s that?”
“Why, a tape. I had it with me from another trip and I didn’t remember I left it there. But I don’t have a tape player anymore, so I couldn’t even listen to it. Really, take it.”
Dean nodded and took the cassette, placing it in his pocket; then opened the handle of the door with one hand, even if he didn’t step back into the car.
“Guess I won’t see you anytime soon.”
“I guess, too. But who knows?”
“Yeah, who knows?”
Boone smiled at him again and Dean had to smile back. God, the way the corner of those lips turned up and how it lightened his eyes, he really couldn’t not; then Boone turned in the opposite direction, backpack on his shoulders, towards the bus.
Dean stepped back into the car, then opened the tape just after starting it; there still wasn’t a label in the small box, but a small piece of paper, folded in four and probably tore from a notebook, fell out on the passenger’s seat. Dean took it and opened it, unable to repress a laugh when reading the content.
If you ever pass in Malibu or surroundings, you’re at odds with your brother and need a sofa to crash on, you can call. I’m always up for some sane sibling talking. Or even if you aren’t at odds with your brother and want to go to the beach or practice something else, call anyway. Take it as a vacation, wouldn’t it be?
Then he had written name, surname, address and a cellphone number. Dean folded it again and put it in the dashboard of the car; then closed it and pushed the tape into the cassette player, taking the wheel in his hand and going across the highway, in the direction of the motel he hoped his dad was still staying at. He didn’t flinch a bit when a song started halfway. Not even when he recognized it.
When I woke up this morning, I got myself a beer, well, I woke up this morning, and I got myself a beer, the future's uncertain, and the end is always near, let it roll, baby, roll, let it roll, baby, roll, let it roll, baby, roll, let it roll...
“... All night long,” he ended, singing softly, while speeding up on the road after opening the car window.
Next time he went on a vacation, this road trip idea didn’t seem half bad. He had never been to Malibu, anyway.
End.
Rating/Warnings: Hard R
Pairing: Dean/Boone (Supernatural/Lost crossover)
Word counting: *cough* 3900 *cough* I got carried away.
Disclaimer: Lost surely isn't mine, Supernatural isn't either. If Boone was mine I'd have probably taken better care than Darlton, while I can't say the same for Dean even if Kripke -> sadist.
Spoilers: Both pre-S1 for each show so... nothing apart from the pilots for both?
Summary:Dean Winchester doesn't do vacations and doesn't pick hitchhikers up. Usually.
A/N: my offer for the almighty Queen
gottalovev at lostsquee, who asked for vacation. Now, she also said that she would have liked some song for a road trip in case. Thing is, my default road trip song is Roadhouse Blues by The Doors and fortunately/unfortunately for her I had in program to write a Dean/Boone for it since months. So I just went with it, it came and here it is. I don't think it should be too averse to your taste ;) I really hope you like it! Using also for un_love_you #23, you remind me of me.Vacation.
Now if there was one thing Dean Winchester never did, that was vacation. And if there was something John Winchester never, ever did, it was vacation.
Well, right, Dean didn’t do vacations because John didn’t do vacations. Square and straight. And in truth, thing was, John wasn’t doing a vacation. He had sent Dean on one.
Or better, he had practically ordered him to take a week off. Dean had shrugged and figured that objecting was only going to hurt. Hey, since Sam went off to Stanford, his dad had had some of those moments in which he looked at Dean for a few seconds, shaking his head. He had asked him a couple of times if he never wished to have a couple of days to himself.
Anyway, Dean had just taken the Impala, turned up the radio, put on some good Robert Johnson tape and went in the first direction on the highway. It was only a week anyway and he could do some hunt job alone without his dad knowing, if he got too bored. Right? Also, vacation.
Fuck, the hell was he supposed to do? Have a trek on the mountains? Going to the fucking sea? Sometimes his dad’s ideas were really weird, no shit.
Well, he figured, if he couldn’t even find some hunting job to do, road trip was the key word.
--
Of course, the first direction he took was exactly the one going straight to Stanford, since he had started from some small town in California to begin with.
Fuck. That. All the roads bring to Stanford, indeed.
Also, fuck him, since he should have taken the car, turned direction and running into the opposite one. But alas, Dean knew himself better than that.
After ten minutes of standing on the corner of a building, dark glasses over his eyes, looking at Sam and a nice, blonde girl having lunch together at a table of an overly romantic small restaurant for students, smiling to each other, Dean decided that it just was enough. Vacations. If that was the start, he might as well have gone back to the hotel.
He left his corner, resisting the urge to punch the first wall he saw; it wasn’t that he wasn’t happy for Sam, because he really was, but there was something upsetting him that he couldn’t place and he just couldn’t stay there. He didn’t even want to know why he was upset. He just fucking was.
He arrived at the car, opened the door, turned his Highway to Hell cassette at the highest possible volume as soon as he was out of listening reach from the restaurant and took the first highway exit. Fuck. What a vacation.
And road trips weren’t meant to be done alone, anyway. Right, you can go on a road trip alone, but what’s the point if you always spend your life on a car anyway? Great fun.
Though the road trip alone looked like what was going to happen. Fuck. That was going to be the worst week of his life, he decided after calling his dad and realizing that going back wasn’t an option before seven days.
--
Also, there was a rule that Dean always stuck to. Rule said wisely, never pick hitchhikers up.
Firstly because you never knew what they could be. He had encountered at least a couple of ghost hitchhikers, a demon one, a zombie one and another that he couldn’t remember specifically but anyway, dangerous stuff.
Secondly because even if they were human, he didn’t want anyone not knowing his job to ride with him. Too dangerous. His job was saving people anyway, not getting them killed.
So, he didn’t really know why he stopped when he saw the guy hitchhiking just outside of Palo Alto. He did it just out of instinct and really, just to hear where he was going. If he didn’t like him, he could always refuse to pick him up. Right?
He lowered the car window and waited for him to approach; he walked behind the car and as soon as the hitchhiker was facing him, Dean had to bite his tongue in order to stop the remark that was coming out. Because thing was, while Dean Winchester definitely knew how to appreciate a nice girl, he had had his flings on the other side of the fence once in a while and this one? Well, this one was something.
Tall enough or so it seemed, long-ish soft brown hair, the biggest blue eyes Dean had ever seen his whole life, a over-sized shirt with a NO GUNS written in capitals (Dean would have really had something to object to that statement but the guy was obviously a liberal and another rule of Dean’s consisted in not talking politics if he could help it, it wasn’t a topic concerning his immediate troubles anyway), ripped jeans, a quite heavy backpack on his shoulders; he had some lips indeed, soft, of a really nice shade of pink, the same of his cheeks (Dean has an idea that the guy has a perpetual flush there) and well, the half smile he did surely was something. And at least he didn’t look like a demon or anything.
“You’re the first that has stopped in three hours. I was sort of losing hope.”
Nice voice, too. Low, warm, sort of friendly.
Damn it.
“Really. Guess it’s your lucky day. What are you doin’ hitchhiking anyway?”
“You know. Was on a sort of road trip.”
“Sort of?”
“Well, I was only going by bus. But there’s a strike in Palo Alto and the next station from when they leave is Salinas. I just need a ride there.”
“Fair enough. But you were going on a road trip alone?”
“Couldn’t find anyone that wanted to go by bus.”
“No car?”
“I already drive enough at home.”
Dean chuckled.
“You know, I’m more or less in your condition. Except that I drive. And I’m supposed to be on a road trip, except that I’m dying of boredom.”
“Why, no one forces you.”
“Long story.”
The guy nodded and didn’t ask further questions. Dean was definitely starting to like this attitude.
“Where did you want to go specifically?”
“I don’t have an idea. I was going with the instinct.”
“Peachy. Neither have I.”
“Why, you want to share the road trip misery with someone?”
“I just might. If you don’t object.”
“Sure don’t. You don’t seem much dangerous, anyway.”
“I’m touched. But you just need to pass the test before.”
“The test?”
“Can you mind your own business?”
“Did I ever ask you questions you didn’t want to answer?”
Fair enough.
“Do you like dance music?”
“Are you crazy? I hate that.”
Now, that was reasoning.
“Awesome. Do you like Metallica?”
“Well, maybe they’re a bit too hard to the ear but I can work with that.”
“Led Zeppelin?”
“I love Led Zeppelin.”
“Right, get in. You’ve got the passenger seat for the next week.”
He smiled, nodded and got on the other side of the car, throwing his pack in the back seat. Then he turned to Dean, his hand extended.
“I’m Boone, by the way. Figured at least we should know each others’ names, right?”
Right. Dean thought about it a second, then shrugged. Whatever.
“I’m Dean,” he answered shaking the hand and well, the guy did have some soft skin. Now, what the hell of a thought was it?
--
He let Boone choose the tape just to see if the test results weren’t a fake. He put on Led Zeppelin III and Dean was not at all disappointed. Not what he would have gone for a first choice but not bad at all. Surely better than the stuff Sam inflicted on him a couple of times.
Fuck.
Wasn’t the target of the trip not to think about Sam? He sped up a bit.
“So, you’ve got preferences for accommodations?”
“Me? Not really. I’ve slept in motels up to now.”
Dean was relieved. The last thing he needed was someone complaining because of motels.
“Hey, just to make things clear...”
“Yes?”, he answered, not taking his eyes off the road.
“I’d like to... I don’t know, maybe split the money for the gas with you? I mean...”
“Well, we could do a nice thing. I pay for the gas and the food, you pay for the motel. What about it?”
“Fine.”
Dean glanced at him with the corner of an eye while Robert Plant screamed about losing his worried mind since loving someone. Dean ignored it and waited for Out on the Tiles to begin. Now that one was a fun song.
At one point during the last half of the record though, when they had talked more or less about nothing, he felt compelled to ask at least a couple of questions.
“Is there any reason for the road trip?”
“Just wanted to take my mind off a couple of things. Family related.”
Dean has to smile again at that.
“Is there anything funny?”
“Nope,” he answered earnestly, still speeding up a bit. “It’s just that it’s exactly the same reason for which I am on a road trip.”
--
It was already evening when Dean turned for one highway stop, four Led Zeppelin records later and much discussing whether Robert Plant sang better in the first record or in the fourth.
The place wasn’t really that bad; Dean had some chicken which wasn’t anything special but not disgusting either, a double coffee and a double portion of apple pie because well, that was good at least; Boone had only the apple pie and a salad, which made Dean wonder whether they guy was also vegetarian or whether he just wasn’t impressed by the cooking. He couldn’t blame him in that case.
“How is that?”
“The salad? Fine. If you’re wondering, I’m not vegetarian. That chicken doesn’t look that good though.”
“Well, not losing a thing here. God, even my brother cooks that thing better.”
Fuck.
“Family reason for which you’re on a road trip?”
“More or less,” he answered shrugging. No sense in denying the truth, right?
“You’re the first? Or he is?”
“I am. Why?”
Boone’s fork stopped mid-air and his expression went in three seconds from incredulous to amused. And Dean should have felt at least a bit angry because there wasn’t anything amusing, especially when they hadn’t known each other for a day, but to his surprise he didn’t. Especially after Boone explained himself.
“Nothing. It’s just... I am on the road trip sort of because of my... my sister.”
“Don’t you tell me. Your junior?”
“Yeah. Two years. Step-sister though. Not that it mattered.”
“Well, now that’s fun. What has she done?”
“She married, divorced two months later and left for France. Au pair.”, he said, putting an extra stress on the au pair. “Before leaving I had to send her money. She finished it and it’s two weeks before they pay her. What did yours do?”
“Oh, just left home. You know, graduating.”
Boone nodded, taking a bite from the pie, and Dean was thankful for no other questions being asked. That would have been a problem to answer, but for once he had luck and ended up with someone that knew how to mind his business. To be honest, Dean didn’t even understand how the hell did he end up with a random Californian guy eating apple pie in an highway stop somewhere in the Monterey county, but hey, it could end being more fun than he had thought, after all. For a decent road trip, after all, you need at least two people, a car and some good music; he had them. Now the question was seeing whether it was going to work.
--
For two days, it worked just brilliantly. Dean found out that his new acquaintance wasn’t that low on money, which didn’t exactly assure four stars hotels, but motels which were a tad more decent than he was accustomed to. They always ended up in completely anonymous towns, but tourism in towns wasn’t the point of the whole thing anyway. Boone was of some really good company; he never pushed on Sam’s topic (and that was a blessing indeed), had more patience with the maps than Dean ever had, didn’t complain if the food was shit, was generally easy to talk to and well, maybe if he wasn’t that hot Dean would have liked it better because sometimes it got, well, distracting, but hey. They were in that for a week, not for life.
On the third day, it didn’t stop working brilliantly. It just changed.
--
“You know, you don’t have the only song you should have in this amount of stuff.”
Dean turned a second from the wheel, faking a hurt expression.
“Really? Now you’re hurting me. What would be?”
“You really go on a road trip without having Roadhouse Blues anywhere?”
Well, he was right. Dean would have probably done an excellent example of facepalm, if it didn’t mean crashing the Impala somewhere.
Not a chance.
“Fuck. Uhm, right. Can’t say you don’t have a point.”
“Oh well, we can do without. That’s a pity, though.”
Dean had to agree with that. He wouldn’t have minded some Roadhouse Blues right now.
That evening they stopped at a small diner which seemed brought out of the seventies. Christ, there was even a jukebox. Boone stood up at one point in the end of the dinner; he had almost finished a piece of some chocolate thing (Dean stuck to the apple pie, thanks). He went to the jukebox and then had a look at the records in the jukebox; Dean managed to see the hint of a smirk in the corner of his mouth while he took a dime out of the pocket of his jeans.
As soon as he sat back in his place, the song started. Dean recognized it on the spot, even before the singing started. How could someone confuse it anyway?
Keep your eyes on the road, your hands upon the wheel, keep your eyes on the road, your hands upon the wheel, yeah, we're goin' to the roadhouse, gonna have a real, a good time...
“Now there’s everything,” Boone said, eating the last bit of the chocolate cake, or whatever it was.
“You bet,” Dean answered, taking a bite of his pie, trying not to stare at a pair of blue eyes which was set exactly on him. He could feel the stare burning and it was making him way uncomfortable.
Boone pushed away the plate then, standing up and placing the chair back in place.
“I think I’ll be going to the bathroom five minutes.”
Dean nodded, his mouth full; as soon as Boone disappeared into the restroom, hips just lightly swinging, while closing the door, Dean realized that his head might think in one direction, but his body was having other projects.
Indeed.
Yeah, back at the roadhouse they got some bungalows, yeah, back at the roadhouse they got some bungalows, and that's for the people who like to go down slow.
Oh, fuck. Now that wasn’t the song. That just wasn’t...
Let it roll, baby, roll, let it roll, baby, roll, let it roll, baby, roll, let it roll, all night long...
You know what? Fuck this., he thought standing up abruptly. He took his jacket, thankful for having paid the bill before sitting; then he quite ran into the bathroom. All the restroom doors were open, except for one which was just halfway.
He went straight in there, only to find himself pressed against the wall, blue eyes staring right up into his.
“Took you some time.”
“Do I have to make up for it?”
Boone didn’t even answer and as soon as his lips insistently touched his, Dean’s knees went weak for a second. Next thing he knew his hands were in Boone’s hair, he opened his lips up giving Boone free access, shivering without really much control when Boone’s hands went on his jeans and he got them opened.
Boone looked at him for a second, raising an eyebrow; Dean just nodded, finding that a lump in his throat was making him unable to speak. He didn’t even look down, he didn’t need it to realize how hard he was and fuck it’d been some time since...
He didn’t finish the thought because then Boone took him in hand and his lips crushed against Dean’s again; Dean couldn’t help but moan into Boone’s mouth while that hand stroked him fast but not too much. He sighed in pleasure as soon as the kiss ended, not caring about Boone biting his lower lip. For a second he thought about doing it, too, but then Boone’s lips were on his neck, Dean’s hands grasping his back not knowing what else to do, spasms of pleasure running through his spine each time Boone moved a finger. He came with Boone’s lips on his, thankful because they would have heard them otherwise, a sort of white light exploding before his eyes, the air so unbelievably hot.
When he regained control of himself enough to pull his jeans up, the door was closed; Boone was on the outside, seemingly intent on drying his hands. He flashed Dean a smile, his lips red and swollen, the flush even more evident, his hair messy; Dean had a serious instinct that told him to throw Boone against the wall and go all the way there, but it wasn’t a reasonable idea.
“Wow.”
“All you have to say?”
“I’m sorta speechless.”
“I’ll take it as a compliment, then. So, what do you want to do now?”
“What do you mean?” he asked, still too dazed to connect.
“Well, you want this to be a one time deal or we get through the week? Fine either way, by me, though I’d favor option number two.”
Dean just took his wrist and looked down at him, trying what Sam called the hooking up smirk. Hey, he wasn’t even angry thinking about Sam. Now that was a nice thing.
“I’d say we go back to the motel. What do you say?”
“I say get the hell on that car and drive.”
--
So, they spent the rest of the road trip having more or less fun in the day (and in the highway stops’ restrooms) and half of the night fucking and that was perfectly fine in Dean’s book.
Hell, he had been lucky enough to find someone to ease his misery during the road trip (which had actually been more fun than he’d have thought at the beginning), who actually had probably worst sibling issues than Dean had or so and that wasn’t that bad to talk to in the end. Finding out that said someone had a huge amount of merits in bedroom had been a very welcomed plus, indeed. And while he wouldn’t have said it out loud for his life, he had to admit that Boone had a pretty good experience in the field, probably more than Dean had himself. Hell, he had had two flings once in a while that ended in a quickie in some restroom (what news!), but he wasn’t near as acquainted with the whole business as Boone was. He should have realized that the guy had learned it living in fucking Greenwich Village of all places, but Dean had found out very soon that it was some very useful learning. Once he got the drill of it, it wasn’t that hard to put into practice Dean’s own theory.
Those were some glorious five days, indeed.
--
He dropped Boone at the bus station in Santa Barbara, on the seventh day. After Boone closed the door, Dean got out of the Impala, too, leaning against the hood; it was a bit chilly and he couldn’t help noticing for a second the way Boone’s hair got messed up by a sudden breeze that left as soon as it had come.
“Guess this is goodbye.”
“Guess it is. God, she’s probably filled up my answering machine with messages.”
Dean shook his head, smiling slightly.
“Will probably be all the contrary for me. You wanna split maybe?”
“I don’t think you’d want half of my sister’s calls, if you knew her.”
“If she’s pretty, why not?”
Boone smirked again, shaking his head himself; then he took out his wallet handing Dean a picture.
Dean took it and had a close look. It was of a young woman and hell, wasn’t she gorgeous. Blonde hair, long legs, perfect tan, lovely features even if they had a sort of hard edge.
“I’d definitely want half of her calls, man. Though she isn’t as pretty as you are, that’s for sure.”
Boone took the picture back, putting it back in his wallet, then came closer.
“How nice of you.”
“I’m known for my sincerity.”
“I’d have a doubt, but I’ll take it for good. Well, thanks for everything. It’s been a nice week.”
“Yeah. Same here, I must say.”
“Oh, I was forgetting something.”
Boone opened a compartment in his backpack, taking out a cassette without labels.
“I remembered I had it this morning. Keep that.”
“What’s that?”
“Why, a tape. I had it with me from another trip and I didn’t remember I left it there. But I don’t have a tape player anymore, so I couldn’t even listen to it. Really, take it.”
Dean nodded and took the cassette, placing it in his pocket; then opened the handle of the door with one hand, even if he didn’t step back into the car.
“Guess I won’t see you anytime soon.”
“I guess, too. But who knows?”
“Yeah, who knows?”
Boone smiled at him again and Dean had to smile back. God, the way the corner of those lips turned up and how it lightened his eyes, he really couldn’t not; then Boone turned in the opposite direction, backpack on his shoulders, towards the bus.
Dean stepped back into the car, then opened the tape just after starting it; there still wasn’t a label in the small box, but a small piece of paper, folded in four and probably tore from a notebook, fell out on the passenger’s seat. Dean took it and opened it, unable to repress a laugh when reading the content.
If you ever pass in Malibu or surroundings, you’re at odds with your brother and need a sofa to crash on, you can call. I’m always up for some sane sibling talking. Or even if you aren’t at odds with your brother and want to go to the beach or practice something else, call anyway. Take it as a vacation, wouldn’t it be?
Then he had written name, surname, address and a cellphone number. Dean folded it again and put it in the dashboard of the car; then closed it and pushed the tape into the cassette player, taking the wheel in his hand and going across the highway, in the direction of the motel he hoped his dad was still staying at. He didn’t flinch a bit when a song started halfway. Not even when he recognized it.
When I woke up this morning, I got myself a beer, well, I woke up this morning, and I got myself a beer, the future's uncertain, and the end is always near, let it roll, baby, roll, let it roll, baby, roll, let it roll, baby, roll, let it roll...
“... All night long,” he ended, singing softly, while speeding up on the road after opening the car window.
Next time he went on a vacation, this road trip idea didn’t seem half bad. He had never been to Malibu, anyway.
End.
